


Real, Not True

by HarpiaHarpyja



Series: Two Halves - Reylo Weekly Challenge Flash Fiction [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon-Compliant, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamscapes, F/M, Fear, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond, Gen, In Which: Ben Solo Gets Jealous of Some Porpoises, Jedi Training, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Lew'el, Meditation, Nightmares, POV Kylo Ren, Resistance Member Ben Solo, Rey Is a Late Night Thinker, Reylo - Freeform, Reylo Weekly Challenge, Young Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarpiaHarpyja/pseuds/HarpiaHarpyja
Summary: At night, Kylo's mind returns to a day in his youth when Luke attempted to lead him in a meditation technique focusing on the nature of fear. When mere memory turns into nightmare, he finds rescue where he isn't expecting it. Afterward, Rey tries to make sense of the realities and cruelties of the unguarded sleeping mind.





	Real, Not True

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the sixth 'two-halves-of-reylo' Tumblr weekly challenge, “Fear” theme.
> 
> These! Are! Fun! Enjoy this brief visit to Nightmaretown, population Young!Ben Solo and Dream!Rey. Warning: my angst always turns into mild fluff.

“Ben. Are you listening?”

“Wha—yeaaa . . .” Ben tears his eyes away from the water, where he’s been watching a pod of porpoises clip through the waves. “Uh. No.”

Luke is unamused. Contrite, Ben amends, “Sorry. What?”

“I asked if you’re ready to begin.” 

Despite his pointed stare a moment ago, he doesn’t sound terribly annoyed, and his eyes have softened a little. It’s hard to believe, but Luke was fifteen once, too. His mind must have drifted when it wasn't supposed to back then, the way Ben’s does. Given the distant expression he sometimes catches on his uncle’s face, it likely still does.

This place is mostly all water, and the slim, green, crescent-shaped island they’ve camped on is the only one in view over the vast expanse of ocean—though there are supposedly others, with actual people living on them. It’s been years since he’s seen Chandrila, with its fragrant forests and staggering mountain ranges. It had oceans, too, but nothing like this. Ben still thinks Lew’el must be a weird place to live by comparison. Its flatness is . . . soothing, he supposes, but not very interesting. The porpoises were the first break in the monotony of the horizon he’s seen all morning. 

“I am. Ready to begin.” Ben is careful to echo the words precisely, to indicate that he’s really, definitely listening now.

He sits, figuring that anticipation of Luke’s instructions will further redeem him for his inattention. He knows they’re doing some sort of meditation here, probably linked with the local belief system. The native population adheres to something called the Tide, which Luke has explained is essentially the Force by another name. He has been here before. There are stories; Ben’s heard them. But when he asked Luke about them, it was only to be told that stories exaggerate the truth. That Ben shouldn’t be so quick to believe everything he hears. 

And Ben isn’t. It’s just that by now, he also isn’t sure he’s ever going to reach a point where he is fully able to separate the legend that is his uncle from the man. It’s hard to know what is exaggeration when he barely knows what the truth is to begin with. Maybe it doesn’t matter. He scans the shoreline before him, a stretch of smooth pinkish pebbles that look nice but aren’t very comfortable for sitting.

“Good.” Luke joins Ben on the ground and makes a face that suggests he, too, is reconsidering their choice of location. They observe the water in silence, and Luke tosses one of the stones out onto the still surface, watching it skip along and finally sink before he says, “You can feel them out there, can’t you?”

It takes a moment, but Ben realizes he means the porpoises.

“In a way, yeah, I guess,” he says simply. He resists the urge to get too chatty about it. He likes his uncle, most of the time, and under different circumstances he would tell him more. How he can feel them, in the Force, if he reaches. The porpoises are happy in a very pure, uncomplicated way. United in their pod, having fun after a hunt. (Must be nice. Ben is still half-asleep and wants breakfast.) But he senses that Luke is in Master Skywalker mode right now, so that means it’s down to business.

“We’re going to try something different today.”

Ben stifles a yawn. “Okay.” 

“Hey, focus,” Luke reminds him with a nudge. “We’re turning our reach inward rather than out. This practice will bring us closer to what we fear. Fear has its place, but we can’t let ourselves be ruled by it, either. So, we identify it, sit with it, and then let the Tide—the Force—take it into its ebb and flow. Restore its proper order.”

Ben feels a squirm in his stomach. _Closer to what we fear_. His eyes are closed and he forces himself not to open them and look at Luke. Does he know that Ben couldn’t sleep the last few nights? Does he know why? The timing of this seems awfully convenient. Ben takes a chance. “What do you fear?”

“That’s not how this works,” Luke says, mildly chastising. If Ben hopes to get any kind of answer he actually wants, he’ll have to wait until later. “Are you ready?”

He hesitates, but it won’t change anything. “Yes.”

He feels like he’s being watched. Not by the man sitting beside him. From afar. He ignores that, as he long ago learned to do. He turns inward, as Luke instructed. 

What does Ben fear? Never being a pilot—sometimes. Sleep—often. Never seeing home again—more often. That his parents think there is something wrong with him—nearly all the time. That what they think is true—always.

 _It is true._

There it is. The fear. His first instinct is to resist it, fight it off, bury it back down. He knows it’s the right one because it bites back the hardest. Ben feels simmering anger at the mere thought, and he’d rather fight. He forgets what he was told to do: identify it, sit with it, let it be taken. Fuck that. His pulse is quickening and he begins to feel hot. 

“No,” he seethes.

“Focus, Ben . . .” Luke’s voice sounds far away, and there’s something new now that Ben picks up on despite his agitation. Another fear. But it isn’t his. It’s Luke’s. Curious, he probes at that, and is dismayed by what he finds. Luke’s fear—it’s of _him_. Around them, the pebbles begin to quiver.

“You’re unbalanced.” That isn’t Luke at all. Another voice. Scornful, not warning. 

He opens his eyes. The ocean is churning. The pebbles on the beach are shaking and leaping and have turned red. Further down the shoreline, large grayish lumps writhe in the shallows—the porpoises have beached themselves. Above, wind-trusters and smaller birds are already circling, sensing an imminent meal. He doesn’t want to look, but his eyes scan left until his head has no choice but to follow suit. Luke is gone. A gaunt, pale, disfigured man hunches beside him now, swathed in a thin gold robe. He’s revolting, but despite this, Ben can only stare.

“You’re unbalanced,” the man repeats. He speaks slowly, and his sunken cheek trembles with each syllable. “And you’re afraid. And you’re alone. A monster, a monster, a monster . . .” 

The words echo over and over again, the man’s voice distorting until it’s not only one voice but many. Voices from Ben’s past and, he senses, from his future. Some he recognizes, others he doesn’t. Horrified, he crabwalks backward over skittering crimson pebbles as everything roars around him. It’s all just noise now. He can’t distinguish the words, but he knows what they’re saying. The vibration of it is shattering him from the inside out. The beach warps and becomes impossibly long.

“ _Ben!_ ” 

One clear word in all the din. The only voice he wants to hear. He bumps roughly against something behind him and cranes his neck to look. It’s her. The girl. She’s standing there above him. He’s seen her in dreams, but he never knows who she is except . . . he does now. He knows her name. He _knows_ her. He loves her. 

“Rey?”

“Ben, listen. Wake up.” She crouches in front of him and grabs his arm, staring urgently into his face. “You’re dreaming.”

Bewildered, Ben tries to argue. “How do you kn—”

He jolts and his eyes fly open. Her face is there, still so close, hovering above his. This place is warm and quiet, and their bodies are pressed together, and there isn’t much space. A bunk. Her bunk. It’s dark. Her fingers are digging so hard into his arm that it’s probably going to leave a mark. 

“—know?” His mouth finishes what he was saying in the dream before he can put a thought together to stop it.

“No?” Rey says. The concern in her face eases, and she looks almost mystified. 

“No. I mean . . . not ‘no’ . . .” He winces and turns his face from hers, then exhales sharply like he’s dispelling whatever might be left of the dream. “Can you let go of my arm please? That sort of hurts.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , kriff. Yeah.” 

She relinquishes her grip and settles down beside him, fidgeting with the blanket. He realizes, or remembers, that both of them are naked. He’s still half in a fog, but details are coming back. He’d been unable to sleep. He walked down to Rey’s room, because she’s one of the few people here who has her own. They talked a while. They did what they’ve been doing in her bunk at night for the last week or so when he can get there without being noticed. They talked more afterward, until they fell asleep. And then . . . that.

“I shouldn’t still be here,” he murmurs. He doesn’t move to go.

Rey shrugs. “We went over this hours ago. Keep quiet and no one will know. Not if you wait ‘til people’ve started going on with their morning stuff. Just wait for the hall to be empty and fall in with it.”

He does remember that discussion now. He also remembers not being entirely convinced of the soundness of the plan—physically speaking, he isn’t exactly inconspicuous. But his lack of desire to leave won out, and after more pillow talk he’d been as good as unconscious. Besides, they’re both deluding themselves if they think people haven’t noticed, or won't soon. 

“I didn’t yell or anything, did I?”

“No. I don’t think so. I was sleeping.” She lays an arm over him and circles her fingertips along his shoulder. “It was really weird, though. Something got crossed again. I ended up in your head. I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. And it wasn’t your fault last time. But it’s not like either of us invites the other to . . . dream with them. We really ought to figure out a way to handle this when it happens, because it doesn’t seem like it’s about to stop.” He wonders if she wants it to stop, and if he does. He’s not sure. Meanwhile, Rey seems to have accepted that they won’t get it settled tonight, so she changes tacks. “You all right?”

“Yeah. That was relatively tame,” he says after brief deliberation. It still sounds on the verge of self-pity, which he didn’t want, but it’s the truth. There was history there, but it was definitely a nightmare and he’s had much worse, to say nothing of waking life. 

Rey nods as her hand wanders from his shoulder to stroke his cheek, and he shifts to his side to face her. He doesn’t know if he needs it, the way her touch is so instantly, deeply soothing, but he craves it badly enough that it must be the same thing in the end. 

“Was all of it only a dream? Some of it felt realer. Like a memory. You were so young.” They both know how a dream can be more than a dream. She wants to parse this, even if he can sense her apprehension at prying further into something that wasn’t strictly hers.

“Parts were. ‘Realer.’ The beginning was more memory.” Some of that was no doubt changed by time and experience, he knows, but there had been no distinction in the dream. As for the end, it was utter nonsense. Awful, but nonsense just the same. Rey waits expectantly for him to continue. He thought he wouldn’t want to talk about it, but he finds he doesn’t mind explaining further. “The stuff with . . . Luke, and that island. On Lew’el. The Tide, and the meditation, too. The rest was just my brain throwing things together where they didn’t belong.” 

Rey is reflecting on this, and her expression is one of understanding rather than pity. Not that he’d expect it of her. She’s getting to know the inside of his head too well. That would have terrified him once, but it doesn’t anymore. He wants to be known by her. It goes both ways. He kisses the flurry of freckles on her shoulder, and the two-pronged scar a little lower down her arm. He doesn’t stop when she finally speaks, but he’s listening. 

“‘Didn’t belong’ is an understatement. Some of that may have been real, but . . . none of it was true. The mind can be cruel enough when we’re awake. It’s worse when we sleep, sometimes.” She stops and pokes him in the ribs. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Yes.” He pauses what he’s doing and pillows his head on her chest instead. “You’ve been reading too many of those old texts. Continue, Master Rey.”

“Very funny. Believe it or not, I’ve had a lot of time to think about these things.” She runs her hands through his hair and tugs a little out of pique, but then smooths it back more gently and lets her fingers curl at the base of his skull. “I’m trying to make you feel better.”

“I do,” he says. “I woke up, you were there, I felt better. You don’t have to try.”

There’s a hint of a smile in her voice. “Then you understand why I want you to stay right here. You’re not the only one of us who feels better waking up to the other.”

“Good.” 

The sound of Rey’s heartbeat is sending him off faster than he expected, and when she winds her arms around him he knows he isn’t going anywhere until morning. It doesn’t come naturally to him to not be fighting something. This is it, though. One of the rare moments when he doesn’t feel compelled to do so. He isn’t sure he believes in a time when the nights will be easier for them both. If such a time does exist, he hopes it comes soon. If it proves too much to hope for, at least there will still be this.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No Lew'elan porpoises were harmed in the making of this fanfiction.


End file.
